


Sundance Kid

by turnyourankle



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-28
Updated: 2006-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Portland fairytale is noosing around Michael's neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sundance Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Brian/Michael/David sorta, Michael centric (yes, yes, I'm just as surprised as you are), including some of 122 but it's mostly about Portland. Short (as always) and I have no idea what it would be rated (once again, as always). This could not have been done without theleapingmuse & eirian , so huge, huge thanks to both!

When Michael saves Brian's life - because there was no fucking doubt that he did - he finally decides to listen to the voice inside of him. The one telling him how much of a fantasy his idea of a life with Brian is. The one pointing at all the technicolor details in Michael’s dreams as proof that he's been reading way too many cartoon fairytales, and that it's time to grow up and let go of his live (flawed) version of Superman. He was never Lois Lane, and the thought that she probably has more balls than he does is disconcerting to say the least.

Brian didn't go from being a selfish prick to a martyr for his religion of youth: he'd always been this way. No one had seen how far Brian was willing to go. Except for him. And Michael won't tell anyone, he doubts he's physically capable of it. Despite what anyone thinks of his secret keeping abilities, it has always been Brian spilling the beans when it comes to the two of them. And fuck if it doesn't feel like he's a martyr himself, almost sacking his future with David for this. For someone who thinks - and will always think - that his existence is so worthless that it requires a self-determined expiration date.

That which soon became local history disrupted Michael's plan to dramatically leave town. Michael will never tell anyone that seeing the missing bricks in the wall Brian had built for himself hurt him as much as Justin's bashing did. That he didn't realize Brian had an emotional life that didn't involve him, even though it was right in front of him was embarrassing. So much for being Brian's best friend. 

When he does leave it's with more determination than he had to begin with. All the faded corners of Liberty Avenue and the field of eggshells that his relationship with Brian has turned into are to be replaced. His stenciled idea of Portland is turning into glorious 3D.

It doesn't go quite as he expects things to.

Actually, it goes exactly how he expects it to; his reaction to this however, is most definitely not what he'd predicted. The twinkle that appears in David's eyes whenever he mentions any activity that ever seemed remotely housewife-y gnaws at him. It doesn't take him long to realize that he's goes from one alpha male to another; from Brian's blunt verbal shoves to the orchestra director worthy pushes David makes. It strikes him that as much as he loves David he was only ever a placeholder, and it's hard to settle for the placeholder when you want to let go of whatever it's replacing. 

*

His mother's voice sounds shriller across the phone-lines, and as she asks about how his dream come true life is now the 'pretty fucking perfect' he chokes out sounds faint in his ears. He wants to tell Deb about the diner he's started having lunch at and how it's completely dull compared to Liberty Diner. About how he always thought happiness would be having a clear perspective, vision sharp and focused, but that now that he has it he misses the soft edges and blurry watercolors of Liberty. She squeals excitedly and he figures that maybe, just maybe he'll catch some of her enthusiasm. But when he hangs up things are a still a little too sharp and a little too real. 

The Portland fairytale is noosing around his neck. 

The more Michael thinks he understands why so many millionaires' wives are cheating alcoholics on Xanax the more he thinks of Brian. While most definitely not eyeing the liquor cabinet he writes it off as nostalgia.

Whatever illusion Michael had about being good at letting go is gone when he finds himself absentmindedly dialing Brian's number, a silent ’pick up, pick up, pick up’ echoing in his head. 

Brian does pick up. 

The space between them stretches over the phone line; voice flat and the way Brian idly recounts and grades his conquests makes him uneasy. Brian is the only person who doesn't ask him about his doll house life. Michael knew he wouldn't, but wishes he had. It would make this whole pretending thing much easier for him.

But maybe it's not supposed to be easy. He needs someone to tell him that this is all in his imagination (or that it isn't, which is too frightening to consider). A push back on to the ground. The words form in his head ’Brian, I don't know what I'm doing here...’

"...and Dave got me this golf club set and I get to go to this really fancy club, they won't even let you say fuck in there! You wouldn't believe it!" 

"You know Mikey, you think you're such a grownup playing house with the good doctor but you're more of a kid than I am. Whatever you tell people you've got isn't it, cause if it were you wouldn't be spinning me stories worthy of publication, you'd be out there doing it."

The ground really isn't as pleasant up close as it looks from far away.

"Send me a picture of that sandcastle you're building, why don't ya." 

 

Michael is back in Pittsburgh two weeks later.


End file.
